


Road Music

by cosmicbluebells



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/F, Road Trips, Star Gazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbluebells/pseuds/cosmicbluebells
Summary: “Just thinking," Saeko answers.“About what?”She stares out at the endless flatlands. The horizon is outlined in fiery red. Frank Ocean is still playing. “Everything. Nothing. The end of the world.”“Getting philosophical, aren’t we?” Miwa teases her. She folds up her napkin and tosses it back in the empty bag of fries, interlacing her fingers with Saeko’s. Then she exhales and tips her chin up—graceful and proud in the twilight. Her eyes are burnished blue; brighter and clearer than any view Big Sky country has to offer.Saeko squeezes her hand tighter.Miwa, Saeko, and two thousand miles across the United States of America.
Relationships: Kageyama Miwa/Tanaka Saeko
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	Road Music

**Author's Note:**

> felt like i should do something semi-serious after the absolute _train wreck_ that was my last fic, so here you go
> 
> (not beta-ed or edited)

“Montana,” Miwa tells her abruptly. Saeko startles at the sound of her voice, knee jerking and landing on an empty Taco Bell bag underfoot that promptly crumples.

They’ve been driving for almost four hours today, and the heat is getting to Saeko’s head. Her eyes are red from lack of sleep, courtesy of the dry, musky Texas air and the cicadas chirping incessantly all night.

“Huh?”

“Montana license plate. Big Sky country,” Miwa comments. “So that’s…twenty-one for me, thirteen for you?”

Saeko nods, even though she hasn’t really been paying attention. Miwa taps her manicured nails on the steering wheel; the fifth day of their road trip and her nails are still perfectly in press.

One last hurrah before the summer ends and they’re back at college on opposite sides of the country; Miami to San Diego, California. From one Sunshine State to another, traversing through time zones and miles of dry grassland and piped-in jazz music. Crossing the entirety of the Sun Belt to get to the West coast.

The trip has been scattered with rainstorms and cloudbursts and flickers of lightning and the occasional dry, dusty spell. Yet they laugh their way through it all—Miwa with her thermos of coffee, Saeko with a warm can of Red Bull that’s lost its fizz. 

They sleep under the stars when the weather isn’t as bad; they play the license plate game to pass time and turn up the music to max volume when they’re drunk and giggly and no one else is around for miles.

Saeko only drives for short stretches of time; on flat roads when there are no other cars and she can step on the gas without needing to worry about going over the speeding limit. Miwa takes over whenever they’re in a traffic jam, or if they’re backing into the parking lot of a motel to fill up on supplies and food.

They drive in silence for another hour or so—Saeko pulls out her phone (verging dangerously on 10% battery) to play a crossword.

“Something that people wish for, twelve letters,” she says absently, staring down at the letters as if they might reveal the answer, to no avail. She uses the corner of her jacket to wipe the screen free of the sweat and grease that’s accumulated from five days of (almost) non-stop driving.

“Birthday gift?” Miwa suggests, shifting the car into park mode when they pull up in front of a gas station.

Saeko shakes her head. “Doesn’t work. It starts with an M, I think.” Then, finding the opportunity too tempting to resist, she cracks a roguish grin and drawls, “Miwa Kageyama?”

Miwa brakes, turns off the ignition, and puffs out a breath, a blush settling into her cheeks. Her shirt sticks to the back of her neck from the sweat. “Definitely not,” she replies, flustered, then she changes the subject. “I’ll refill on gas—wanna grab some snacks? Corn chips if they have them. And trail mix.”

Saeko nods, popping the console for her credit card. “Got it. What’s the budget?”

Miwa tilts her head. “Doesn’t really matter as long as we have enough for a motel tomorrow. The weather report says it’ll rain.” She nods at the TV inside the gas station, where the words ‘RAINSTORM TOMORROW’ flash across the screen.

Saeko pulls open the door and stretches her legs. They feel like jelly after sitting in the car for so long.

Her shorts stick to the car seat, but she ignores the sound, inhaling deeply. It smells like sunscreen and kindling. 

They’re nearing the dryer parts of Texas, and she can practically feel the dust sticking to the roof of her mouth.

Inside the store, it isn’t much better. A bored clerk flips through a newspaper while some archaic overhead television plays the afternoon news.

“Hi,” she says, dumping a bag of corn chips, a few bottles of water, a six-pack of beer, and two trail mix packages on the counter, along with a singular fruit roll-up. “How much?”

“Fifteen dollars,” the clerk tells her. “ID?”

She hands it to him and he scans it, then she’s out of the door after a bathroom trip and another cursory glance at the weather station (humid and cloudy tonight, small chance of thunder).

Her flip-flops smack against the gravel. A roly-poly beetle scuttles past her foot.

When she gets back to the car, Miwa is already inside, scrolling through her phone.

She tosses the snacks in the backseat but keeps the corn chips.

“I’ve been thinking about the crossword puzzle,” Miwa says, apropos of nothing. “I haven’t been able to figure it out.”

She looks like an angel right now, Saeko thinks, in the blinding afternoon light, tanned and beautiful.

There’s a spot of dirt next to her eyelid that Saeko wants to wipe away and her saltwater hair is tousled in the arid breeze. Her lips are bitten pink; hours on end in a car with the roof rolled down have brought out the sun-splashed freckles on her cheeks.

Saeko blinks. Miwa is still there.

She leans over the console and kisses her.

“What was that for?” Miwa asks, flushing dark. Her forehead is shiny with sweat, but Saeko presses her lips to it lightly.

She shrugs. “Felt like it.”

Miwa rolls her eyes. “Sure.” She fiddles with the navigation and pulls on the knob to shift the car into drive mode. “Coming up on El Paso in three hours,” she notes. “Think we can make it?”

Saeko shrugs and yawns. “Crossing state lines? Thank god,” she groans. “We’ve been in Texas forever.”

“Only three days,” Miwa points out. “But it feels like an eternity, doesn’t it?”

“For sure.”

They leave the gas station in the dust—literally. The wheels kick up sand and dust that floats over the back window, sticking to it like chewed gum.

“Want the roof up or down?” Miwa asks, knuckles drumming against the sideboard of the car as she glances in the rearview mirror. “I’m fine with either.”

The sun bears down on them, a flat gold coin high in the sky reflecting off every surface.

Saeko hums. “Up, probably. Rather not get dust into those pretty eyes of yours.”

Miwa blinks said pretty eyes twice, lashes fluttering over pools of azure, but she takes the compliment in stride. “Sure. Let me know if you change your mind.”

━━━━━━

“Hawaii!” Saeko declares, almost jumping out of the seat. Her seat belt tightens and she flops back down, but not before Miwa’s arm flies out to stop her. She gapes. “Did you just try to stop me from dying?”

Miwa’s cheeks are red, a combination of sunburn and embarrassment. “Instinct,” she mumbles. “What were you saying?”

Saeko refocuses and points at the truck in front of them. “Hawaii,” she repeats. “Aloha State. How’d they get up here?”

“Maybe they took a boat,” Miwa suggests, because neither of them knows the first thing about license plates. “Or a plane?”

Saeko slumps further down and rips open the bag of corn chips. “Probably.” Then, since she’s so far behind in the license plate game anyway, she says, “Can I have double points for this one?”

And Miwa being Miwa, relents. “Sure. Twenty-one to fifteen. You might beat me after all.”

Saeko raises an eyebrow. “Definitely not, but thanks for giving me hope.” She reaches for the bag balanced precariously on her lap and pulls out a corn chip.

Then another one. 

She polishes off the bag before they make it to the Texas border.

━━━━━━

At nine in the evening, they’re skirting the state line between Texas and New Mexico while the sun kisses the horizon. They stop for dinner at a fast food place on the edge of El Paso.

Miwa plugs in her phone and turns on Frank Ocean, and then they climb up on the roof of their car. 

All of them (car included) are exhausted from driving hundreds of miles every day, but Saeko stretches her legs out until they reach the windshield and tries to forget about the speckles of sand stuck in her hair.

They eat their fries, grease-slicked and salty, while Frank croons about love and permanence and giving up what you want.

A star blinks in and out of existence. The desert is aglow in dusk light from the fading sun, trees and tumbleweeds and _Miwa_ , in all her sunkissed glory, backlit by a wash of deep orange.

 _I'm going to miss her so much_ , realizes Saeko with clarity.

When the summer ends and they’re not at home. When they aren't together every minute and they only have the occasional Skype call to check in on each other.

“Is there something on my face?” Miwa asks when she catches Saeko staring. She grabs a disposable wipe and rubs it around her mouth.

“Nope,” Saeko answers. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Saeko stares out at the endless flatlands. The horizon is outlined in fiery red. Frank Ocean is still playing. “Everything. Nothing. The end of the world.”

“Getting philosophical, aren’t we?” Miwa teases her. She folds up her napkin and tosses it back in the empty bag of fries, interlacing her fingers with Saeko’s. Then she exhales and tips her chin up—graceful and proud in the twilight. Her eyes are burnished blue; brighter and clearer than any view Big Sky country has to offer.

Saeko squeezes her hand tighter.

━━━━━━

Several things make Miwa and Saeko tick; things that take them apart and put them back together all over again.

Miwa is always the composed one, the one who’s withdrawn and terse and gets stressed out when a deadline approaches. 

Saeko could never hope to understand, but she still tries to anyway, if only because she wants to know all of Miwa Kageyama and _love_ all of her, irrevocably.

Saeko, though—she wears her emotions on her face. She swaps Miwa’s overprotectiveness for a spontaneity developed after years as Ryuu’s older sister, wild spirit infused with a zest for recklessness.

The contrast makes it more rewarding when Miwa takes control, kisses her slowly and tenderly. Takes her apart piece by piece with desire and fondness burning dark in the inky sapphire lakes of her eyes.

In the college year, there are repetitions of the phrase, ‘I wish you were here,’ and ‘I’m coming home for Thanksgiving,’ and ‘take care of yourself.’ There is Saeko falling asleep at her laptop while Miwa studies and Miwa cutting off the call early to talk to her TA.

In the summer, there is Miwa memorizing the curves of Saeko’s body with an unmatched concentration. There is Miwa snipping soft tufts of her hair with a crease between her brows and a softness in the set of her mouth. There is Miwa pressing warm, dry kisses to the curve of her hips, and there is Miwa, holding her while she comes down from her high, sweaty and tired. 

And at the end of the summer, there are perfect days, interminable and dizzying. Days on the side of freeways in Florida, Missouri, Louisiana, Texas, when time means nothing to them anymore. 

Days that are split equally between driving and solving crosswords; and always, always, being in love.

━━━━━━

At midnight, the haze of clouds parts to reveal a sliver of dark sky. Miwa and Saeko are lying on the ground with a blanket pulled over their legs and two cans of beer noticeably absent from the original pack of six. 

Saeko shuffles closer to Miwa and uses her teeth to rip off a portion of the fruit roll-up in her hand. “Want some?” she asks, offering a lopsided grin. 

She gets a nod in return, so she pulls off a strip and places it between them, one end hanging from each of their lips.

If they weren’t lying in the middle of the desert, miles from the nearest town, Saeko wouldn’t have dared to do such a thing. As it is, though, she flashes Miwa a grin and chews the candy slowly.

“Really?” Miwa’s words are faint—she doesn’t move her teeth in case the fruit roll-up drops—but her sigh is audible all the same.

“Mm-hmm.” They inch closer towards each other. Saeko can count the eyelashes framing Miwa’s cobalt-blue irises. The tilt of her mouth is gentle.

When they finally meet in the middle, it’s sloppy. Their lips connect in a mess of spit and sugar and Miwa tastes like artificial fruit with a hint of beer. 

Miwa groans, low and throaty, and Saeko flushes red at the intensity of the sound. It stirs something in the pit of her stomach, so she nips Miwa’s lower lip and teases her mouth open until it’s relaxed and pliable.

They stay there for a while–maybe minutes, maybe hours, kissing lazily and twisting fingers into each other's wind-splashed hair. They tangle their legs together underneath the blanket. 

Sand clings to their arms and another star twinkles with every second that passes.

It's hot and fervent and strangely tender, like the feeling of looking out the window of a plane on the way back from a trip—seeing the city flooded with rain and nighttime fog, the lights glowing and fuzzy. 

Seeing home like someone else might see it; someone who's never been there before, who doesn’t know about the scar on Miwa’s jaw from when she was eight and her brother hit her with a staple gun. About the way she purses her lips when she’s thinking hard, about the sleepy, featherlight kisses she offers when Saeko comes home for the Christmas break jet-lagged and dead on her feet.

A bolt of light streaks across the Lone Star plains, flaring a blinding white. Then another, and another, until the New Mexico sky is mottled with supernovas and swirls of silvery freckles. 

Saeko pulls away from Miwa’s lips and stares. 

Miwa wraps her arms around her waist, lips warm and dusky-soft, hair tickling her neck, and whispers, “Meteor shower. Twelve letters.”

Saeko just turns her head and kisses her, hard.

They are reckless, drunk on youth and independence and the end of the world as they know it. And as the desert bushes flutter gently in the wind, they intertwine their fingers tightly, trying fiercely to act like they still have the whole summer left—warm and inviting and theirs for the taking.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, bookmarks, & comments are greatly appreciated <3
> 
> links to places to donate to for texas blizzard aid! please help out if you're able to :) these are just the ones i've found, but i'm sure there are way more.  
> [one](https://twitter.com/YourFavoriteNJG/status/1361772337062834179/)  
> [two](https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-texas-residents-who-are-without-power?utm_campaign/)  
> [three](https://www.gofundme.com/f/2a72xwl6c0?utm_campaign/)  
> [four](https://communityresiliencetrust.org/crt-cares/)


End file.
